Nothing at the End
by Blackheart Dracon
Summary: Boromir's last stand is over.


Title: Nothing in the End

Author: Blackheart Dracon

Fandom: LotR (book based but moviefans can still read it with no problems)

Characters: Boromir and an orc. Well, if you want him to be Lurtz let him be Lurtz. But he's from Mordor and he's got no name.

Rating: R for violence and blood

Genre: Pfff… I don't know. Missing scene?

Disclaimer: You know the stuff. Boromir, Aragorn and the orcs aren't mine. Pity, though.

A/N: For everyone to know – I'm no sadist. Truly. And I'm still wondering how in the blazes I could've written such a damned thing. Enjoy, heh.

In merely seconds there was no one left. He was the last to follow. But he couldn't just run away and leave that man there. The man who killed so many comrades of his today.

A menacing growl escaped his black lips as he looked at the man kneeling in front of him in the dust. Slowly and tauntingly he nocked another arrow.

Tiredness and stubborn determination was set in the man's gaze as he lifted his eyes on the orc. He was not afraid. And he was not defeated.

The orc frowned understanding that another arrow won't do much. He lowered the bow and put the arrow back into the quiver. Then he took a step closer.

The orc growled at a thought that suddenly occurred to him and pulled his lips into what seemed a horrible mock of a self-satisfied smile and with a strong kick to the man's chest made him fall on his back.

Boromir gasped when the orc's boot made contact. Before, he wasn't truly there. His eyes followed the orc's movements but his mind didn't think of him at all.

"_How Father could believe I was to save Gondor if I failed to save my own comrades? I failed to save two of them and before I betrayed all of them. It was my duty to keep them save, and I failed them all. Now Gondor will fall, and that will be nobody's fault but mine"_

There was nothing left in him except for desperation and scorn.

"_The mightiest warrior of Gondor," _Boromir thought in disdain, _"The one who the others looked to. I'm left to hope they didn't learn much from me"_

It was then when the orc's kick brought him into the physical reality. He fell with his back meeting the tree trunk he was fighting near to, forcing himself not to yell from pain.

The orc towered above him as he once more lifted his eyes to meet the beast's gaze. In it Boromir saw such black hatred that he couldn't restrain himself from a shudder.

"_And such will be the end of all my people" _he thought emotionless. He had no heart left to feel the bitterness and pain any longer.

The orc lowered onto one knee near the warrior. He knew the man was helpless – pierced with six arrows at least and having a bleeding wound in his right side from where he plucked a shaft out – and weaponless, clutching the remnant of his broken sword in his hand.

Still the orc put his left knee onto the man's right wrist to break all the possible attempts to resist. He didn't bother himself with the man's left arm for it was pierced through and so immobilized and useless.

Then he reached down and took hold of an arrow that went into the warrior's midriff. From all the years spent in Lugburz he had had a great practice in torturing and toying with the captives and he knew the most painbringing and vulnerable spots of a man's body.

He roughly felt the place around the shaft looking for a pained reaction from the man. Not getting it, he growled in growing bloodlust and slowly pushed the shaft deeper into the man's solar plexus. Though the orc felt the warrior's muscles tense as if not to let the arrow in, the man kept silent showing not the pain he brought him.

The orc snarled in frustration as he forced the shaft in with more strength but still the same result. The man's face was emotionless as if he couldn't feel anything while he continued to stare into the orc's eyes. The orc never faced such lack of reaction. Commonly, the men he tortured either yelled or whimpered over their pain either gritted their teeth and struggled not to show what they felt.

He sneered exposing his yellow fangs and then brutally twisted the arrow. That at last brought the desired result. The warrior gasped and tried to pull away. The orc grabbed him with his left arm now twisting the shaft full-circle. The man took a shuddered breath and then suddenly spat into the orc's face with such fierceness that it made the beast jerk back.

Boromir fell back against the trunk fighting for air. The orc looked at him in what seemed thought, then stood up and reached to fetch another arrow.

Boromir just watched him. His horn has sounded more than once, but no one came. It could mean only that they were all dead. And they were dead because all of them were apart and looking for Frodo who fled the monster Boromir had become. They were all dead because of his own fault. And perhaps, the orcs had the Ring now. And so his country was doomed to fall because of him. Then why should he still be alive?

The orc released his arrow. It went into Boromir's chest inches above the one in his midriff, hitting him against the tree trunk.

The orc watched for a second as the warrior once again fought for breath then turned and silently left.

Dead silence hang. Boromir stopped fighting against the closing darkness. There was nothing left to fight for. And he was the reason why. Perhaps, his death in loneliness was his punishment.

He had always thought of his death to be a valiant one on the battlefield within the sight of Minas Tirith, so that he would see the sun glittering on the white Tower of Ecthelion for one last time before he closed his eyes forever. And that he would be buried with honor after he had died.

The reality was cruel. He will never see his City again, never see his beloved ones again. He will never have any honor after what he had done. And his death turned out to be a one kneeling in the mud on the borders of his country – his Horn cloven, his sword broken.

Then the silence shattered as footsteps sounded – not orcish heavy ones, but ones of a man, or elf. Footsteps sounded and Boromir made the mist before his eyes sail away. Perhaps, Pippin and Merry could still be saved.


End file.
